


True Benefactor

by tea_cat



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Grooming, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching, Persona 5: The Royal, Spoilers, Therapy, handjobs, ish? akiras thoughts are conflicted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_cat/pseuds/tea_cat
Summary: Maruki was to be Akira's savior, to piece him together when he failed, to pick him up when the weight grew too heavy.------------------The back of his finger brushes Akira’s neck - it sends a shock, a jolt down his spine. It would appear that the doctor politely ignores it, yet keeps escaping into the lessening distance between the two. Eventually, he’s so close that Akira forgets the pretense, of why Maruki is moving closer and closer to the soft vulnerability of his neck. He wants his hand to sink into his hair, pull around his neck, reach inside his brain and be the only one to ever understand his thoughts. The therapist deserved that much.“Kurusu…” it’s barely a whisper, to push into Akira’s ear like a persistent bug. Maruki knew what he was doing, of course - he always did. And still, he always did exactly the same, to claw at the boy’s head in a way that they both knew could never be erased. This is the point - the peak - where the older man always drops his gaze, hand shaking, and asks, “Tell me to let go.” Akira never listens to him.------------------
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Maruki Takuto, Maruki Takuto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Kudos: 29





	True Benefactor

Akira knew he shouldn’t be taking all of Dr. Maruki’s time, coming into the nurse’s office two or three times a week, but he couldn’t help it today. None of his other confidants in the area were available, and he didn’t feel like studying again with no exams on the near horizon. He wasn’t going to be in for long, anyways - just long enough to have a short conversation and take half of the snacks out of his bin.

The hallways were still crowded with students, even after the bell had dismissed them to go home. Akira debated going through the other entrance, to avoid having to shove past groups of teenagers. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet run into Ryuji, who would probably express a strong opinion on him going to the school’s therapist for a second time this week; it was only Wednesday, he would argue, his snacks aren’t even that good, even if they are free.

He reached for the doorknob, pausing for a second. It was slightly open, which confirmed that Maruki wasn’t with anyone else at the moment. It didn’t mean that he wanted to talk to Akira right now, though. As nice as the older man was, the phantom thief wasn’t completely sure where they stood with each other. Maruki was hired by the school, after all, to help students that had been affected by Kamoshida’s mad rule over Shujin. It wasn’t exactly at the height of his duties to assist the delinquent every time he got bored.

The door’s opening before he moves his hand, a white lab coat flowing into the open space to the office. Maruki takes a step back, as if only now noticing Akira standing in the doorway. There's a smile that bursts over his face, his glasses dropping slightly to look the student in the eye. A subtle spark ignites in his pupil, and suddenly Akira’s not sure if he’s all that bored today.

“Kurusu! How are you?” Stepping out of the way, Maruki ushers him in, tapping his shoulder into the room. “Here for mental training?” Was that really the reason? Sure, it benefited him greatly, even in the metaverse, to gain acuity in such a simple way, but Akira found that the motive had slipped his mind on the walk here.

He nods, neglects to correct the other, and sinks into his usual chair. Maruki’s not far behind him, toying with the red string tucked into his pocket. Akira rubs the back of his neck when he’s offered a carton of apple juice. It was never his favourite - yet he bets his tongue wouldn’t complain to taste it out of the other’s mouth. The sweetness of the juice suited Maruki, anyways, and Akira could never find fault in that.

“Continue where we left off?” If he remembered, even, what they were talking about during their last meeting, then that seems like it would be a great idea. Morgana wasn’t with him this time - or the last time - which meant he couldn’t rely on him like he usually does. 

Akira nods either way. With a twitch of Maruki’s fingers, instantly he knows this lesson would probably be much more in depth than would normally be understandable. The look settling onto the doctor’s face, hardset and determined, creates a hitch of air in his throat. His brown eyes are focused onto the delinquent’s own grey ones, staring into them with an intensity he surely hasn’t felt since the last time he came to visit the nurse’s office. It’s a little too much to bear - a little too strong, but much too arousing to ignore. 

Maruki slouches into the seat and crosses his left leg over his right. The casualty of the position, similar to how Akira would sit in comfort without the watchful eye of another, seems too relaxed for a short student therapy session. He’s started talking, now, but Akira’s not listening too attentively. Therapy isn’t what he needs, not really, not now. There’s not much point that he sees to it - not when he can have Maruki shoving him to his knees to reconcile for his sins. 

“And, see? With the logic the situation provides us, we could-” Akira looks up at the sudden cut off. He wills himself not to be too disappointed - Maruki’s voice really was soothing. “Kurusu, how’d you get that scar?”

Ah, which one? Akira brushes a hand down his sleeves, wondering where possibly visible scars would be in the light of Maruki’s eyes. The sleeves of his blazers cover his arms, hiding any potential marks from battles, and his pants are only rolled about half - an - inch above his ankle. His confusion, concern, must show on his face; Maruki reaches over, pointing just above Akira’s collarbone, his finger lingering just above the skin. Tremors wire through his hand, so every other second his fingertip trails fire along the taut skin over his bone, weaving a sense of overstatement into the freckles bestowed there.

In all honesty, he’s not sure there’s even anything there - if there was, chances were it was a long forgotten kiss from the blade of a knife, or an embrace from a Rangda- the doctor might just be seeing what he wanted to see: a reason to fret over the teen. He tried not to give Maruki too many opportunities to worry over him. There had to be some sort of power associated, so of course he leans into it, leans into Maruki’s hand. 

The back of his finger brushes Akira’s neck - it sends a shock, a jolt down his spine. It would appear that the doctor politely ignores it, yet keeps escaping into the lessening distance between the two. Eventually, he’s so close that Akira forgets the pretense, of why Maruki is moving closer and closer to the soft vulnerability of his neck. He wants his hand to sink into his hair, pull around his neck, reach inside his brain and be the only one to ever understand his thoughts. The therapist deserved that much.

“Kurusu…” it’s barely a whisper, to push into Akira’s ear like a persistent bug. Maruki knew what he was doing, of course - he always did. And still, he always did exactly the same, to claw at the boy’s head in a way that they both knew could never be erased. This is the point - the peak - where the older man always drops his gaze, hand shaking, and asks, “Tell me to let go.” Akira never listens to him. 

Instead of those words, he pushes in closer, taking away the usual question, the insistence to admit the wrong in the actions, occurring in the room - under the additional eyes of no one, to be spoken about only in hushed whispers by people who happened to be walking by in the hall and took a peek through an uncovered sliver of the window. Neither concern themselves with that, not when the tension in the room has considerably changed to account for the heat that Maruki’s mouth is running along Akira’s jaw, now. Left behind is spit and the tickle of his barely - there shadow, and the firm press of each manipulatively sweet word used as deception. Briefly, he wonders if it mean anything - to both Maruki and Akira - because, at this point, neither of them can be completely sure of what the other is saying. 

He knew Maruki didn’t mean anything, whether he was telling Akira that he was the only boy he could ever love, ever touch like this, nor when he ignored the teen for a week to avoid ruining him any further. As if there were any way to prevent that, any longer. Akira was ruined, and Maruki was his ruin. Even as his fingers worked his way into the delinquent’s pants, he sat still - he felt muted, muffled most of the time, but not with this man. He listened, at least, despite the insistent way Akira stood quiet. 

His hand drifts into Maruki’s hair when he’s lifted into the older man’s lap. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t squirm, doesn’t bat away the determined hand that painstakingly coasts over badly healed wounds on his chest and the sore meat of his thighs. Still in the other’s lap, with his ankles locked around Maruki’s back, Akira shifts until his head is level with the others. Their breaths, quivering, mixed, bleeding into each other like they always do. 

Suddenly, there’s an insistent urge to move, to get off of the body currently coveting him and pretend - like he always did, outside of this room - that nothing had transpired. Like Maruki hadn’t personally told him, in the midst of a heat storm flashing through the pair, that he wanted to be the one to break him down, Akira. To tear him apart until he was crawling back, begging and sobbing and beseeching to be put back together again. Was it wrong of him to welcome the pull? He knew it was inevitable, while Maruki took his heart out of his chest with a single thought.

“God, Akira, I love you so much,” it’s breathy, sweet. Akira shudders at the words; even as a hand palms into his pants, it’s still the voice that sends the final rush of heat through him, grasping at each bud of nerves inside his body and melting them into volts of electricity - that shock and twist the hairs on his skin.

A moment later, when there’s no hand between his legs and he’s back on his own chair, the therapist clears his throat. “I have another student coming in soon.” He wipes his hands on his khakis, eyes fixed to his sandals. “See you tomorrow?”

Akira doesn’t remember standing up - when he looks back at Maruki, frowning and pitiful, he can’t help but nod, with a slight smile. “Yeah.” How could he stay away?

**Author's Note:**

> eventually i might write a piece going further into a thingy where maruki is - not the best for an impressionable young teen but for now this is all im doing xoxo
> 
> debating whether i like certain parts of this or not but! wrote it all today so im glad i could finish it (before i have to start working on chapter10 of my other ongoing thing)


End file.
